


God’s gonna cut you down

by systemicallywritten



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Dream Smp, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exiled TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Not Beta Read, Not a ship fic, Past Abuse, SMP Dream is a really bad person, Twoshot, We Die Like Men, Wilbur beats the shit out of SMP Dream, Wilbur comes back to life, Wilbur is out for blood, platonic, post exile, tommy is depressed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:49:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28810662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemicallywritten/pseuds/systemicallywritten
Summary: He drew in a deep breath. He had to talk at some point. Sitting here quietly wasn’t doing anything except making him more anxious, so finally, he spoke: “So, you know how I mentioned that Dream exiled me?”—Wilbur is resurrected and Tommy tells him about what Dream did to him in exile.It’s safe to say Wilbur is nowhere near as understanding as his ghost-self was.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 616





	1. He called my name and my heart stood still

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a short twoshot I wanted to write because Tommy deserves better and Wilbur is about to be resurrected and I’d like to think he’s gonna be fucking furious when he finds out what Dream did to Tommy.

Tommy’s palms were sweating and his throat felt like it was closing up as he sat across from Wilbur. This was so weird. Having Wilbur alive again, right in front of him, Ghostbur’s calm innocence long gone. This was not to say the older man was quite as unhinged as he had been at the moment of his death, but the change from his gentle, silent ghost-self was very clearly noticiable.

Wilbur had been back for three days now, adjusting and learning about the fate of L’manberg and catching up with everything; he had faint memories from being Ghostbur, but most of it had been wiped at the moment of his resurrection. Tommy had kept his distance, observing, seeing quite how off the rails his old friend was, but upon seeing Wilbur genuinely regret his past actions and seem more clear-headed, he had allowed himself to get closer again. However, now, he wasn’t quite sure if telling Wilbur he wanted to talk and pulling him aside had been a good idea.

“Tommy,” came Wilbur’s voice, no longer echoing as it had been for the past month, startling the younger man out of his anxious thinking. Tommy looked up at Wilbur again, nervousness clear on his face. Wilbur responded with a gentle, yet awkward smile and reached out to pat the blonde’s shoulder, frowning and pulling his hand back before making contact, when Tommy flinched violently.

“Tommy,” Wilbur repeated, voice softer than the first time: “What did you want to talk about? What’s wrong? You’re so jumpy.”

“Just... let me collect my thoughts,” Tommy responded, voice shaky, averting the taller man’s worried eyes. He knew that if he was going to tell anyone about what happened in exile, he would feel most comfortable with Wilbur, but it was still difficult to find the right words to describe the horrific things Dream had put him through.

“Of course,” Wilbur said: “Take all the time you need. But there’s no need to be scared, Tommy. I’m not going to be angry or anything.”

“It would be pretty fucked up if you were angry about what I’m going to tell you,” the blonde boy replied, with a dry laugh: “At me, at least.”

He drew in a deep breath. He had to talk at some point. Sitting here quietly wasn’t doing anything except making him more anxious, so finally, he spoke: “So, you know how I mentioned that Dream exiled me?”

“Yes. I have a few memories from that time,” answered Wilbur, looking thoughtful for a moment, before adding: “Very few memories though. I remember building together and the place being called... Logstad?”

“Logstedshire,” Tommy corrected: “Logsted for short. I get the confusion.”

“Right, yes, Logsted,” Wilbur nodded. He was silent for a moment, staring at Tommy with a thoughtful, yet concerned look before questioning: “Why did you want to talk about that?”

“Well... uh. There’s a lot that you don’t remember or even know about it,” Tommy started, trying to keep his voice loud enough for Wilbur to hear, even though he wanted to sink into the chair behind him and whisper what he was about to say: “About... what happened there. About what happened- no - what was done to me there.”

”What was done to you?” Wilbur repeated in a distressed tone, leaning forward in his chair, while Tommy leaned further back in his, still avoiding eye contact.

“It’s hard to talk about,” the boy mumbled, clenching his fists to stop his hands from trembling: “I haven’t talked about it properly with anyone. Not even Tubbo. I’m... ashamed, I guess.”

“Tommy, please tell me what happened,” Wilbur pleaded, tone growing more and more alarmed by the minute. Tommy couldn’t stand it anymore and before he could stop himself, the words came spilling out of his mouth like a fountain:

“Dream. Dream is what happened. He... He exiled me and then isolated me from literally everyone except you, or Ghostbur, I guess. He manipulated me and told me he was the only person who cared about me and that everyone back home was happy I was gone. And I started fucking believing him.”

Tommy felt dizzy. His breath was hitching and tears of frustration and anger were welling up in his eyes, but he was nowhere near done.

“He was the only person who came to see me. He forced me to hand over my armor and weapons every day and blew them up right in front of me. If I refused, he’d threaten or hit or fucking stab me. Sometimes he’d do it for fun too. I don’t know, I guess he liked seeing how I reacted. He did that and so much more and then turned around and said he cared about me more than anyone else,” he ranted, not even sure if he was talking too fast for his counterpart to understand.

Wilbur stared, eyes wide. Tommy looked up at him and his shocked expression made him want to stop, but it was like he couldn’t control the words spilling from his mouth.

“I have scars everywhere and all of them aren’t even from him. I— It got so bad I started wanting to die. I became self destructive and I thought about offing myself more than once,” the boy continued, voice choked, barely above a whisper now: “-and I still do sometimes. I can’t even cope like a normal fucking person anymore. He made me... I started to believe that every time I fuck up I deserve to be hurt and I can’t get out of that mindset no matter how hard I try. I feel completely fucking worthle-“

Tommy’s ranting was cut off by Wilbur springing up from his chair and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. At first, Tommy flinched and instinctively tried to push the brunette back, expecting a punch or a knife against his back, but when he realized the hurt wasn’t coming, he broke. He wrapped his arms around Wilbur’s shoulders, nails digging into his coat that still smelled like gunpowder and buried his face into the front of the taller man’s shirt and just let himself break. Sobs shook his entire body and his breath was coming out in short puffs and Wilbur held him. Just held him silently and let him cry. Tommy had forgotten what it felt like to be safe like this and it just made him cry more.

It was unfair. It was so fucking unfair. He was sixteen. He shouldn’t have had to forget what safety felt like. This hug was so warm and kind and nothing like Dream’s empty, manipulative way of wrapping Tommy up in his arms to create a false sense of security.

Tommy had no idea how long it took for him to start calming down, sobs turning to small sniffles, drawing in deeper breaths, no longer trembling from head to toe. Even then, he kept holding onto Wilbur, as if he was scared the older man would disappear the moment he let go.

“Tommy,” Wilbur said after a moment, voice strained: “I’d love to keep hugging you but this position is really uncomfortable.”

“Oh!” Tommy exclaimed, letting go of the brunette and allowed him to pull back and sit back down across from him. The blonde looked off to the side, embarassed and muttered an apology. Wilbur laughed softly and carefully reached out to place his hand on Tommy’s knee, catching the younger’s glance. The boy was shocked to see unshed tears in Wilbur’s eyes and a sad smile twisting his features.

“Hey, why are /you/ crying?” Tommy questioned and probably sounded more alarmed than he intended, because the older man let out another laugh at his reaction.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur responded, tone sincere and wiped his eyes with his sleeve before looking back up at Tommy: “I don’t want to make it about me, I just. I wish I had been there and protected you better.”

“Can’t change the past,” Tommy remarked, shrugging: “I can’t say I’m not a bit bitter that you weren’t here, but there’s nothing we can do to change it.”

“You’re right,” Wilbur replied, looking away for a moment and pulling his hand away. Tommy watched his jaw clench and eyes narrow as he seemed to be deep in thought for a few minutes. Tommy didn’t expect his tone to be so dark when he spoke again: “We can’t change the past. But I can definitely shift the future.”

“What do you mean by that?” The younger asked, slightly frightened by the anger in his friend’s tone. Wilbur turned to look at him, his heated expression softening once more. He leaned forward a bit, holding Tommy’s glance and asked: “Where are you supposed to be meeting Dream on Wednesday?”

“Wilbur, I can’t bring anyone but Tubbo,” Tommy stated, shaking his head: “I can’t. The discs-“

“He won’t have time to even reach for the discs,” Wilbur spoke over him, expression and tone dead serious: “Much less a flint and steel. Trust me. I’ll make quick work of him.”

“Wilbur-“

“Trust me, Tommy.”

Tommy didn’t think he’d ever heard Wilbur sound so serious in his life. He searched the older man’s face for a single sign of doubt or fear, but saw only stone cold seriousness. He nodded slowly and reached into his pocket, pulling out the compass Dream had left in the ruins of his burnt down house. The compass that supposedly pointed towards his discs. He handed it to Wilbur with a shaky hand.

“He’ll expect to be attacked on Wednesday,” the boy said carefully. Wilbur flashed him one of his comforting smiles that was laced with underlying anger and responded:

“That’s why I’m going today.”


	2. Cut him down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes graphic violence, don’t read if you’re sensitive to that!

”Philza, do you still have my yellow sweater somewhere?”

The question was presented in a casual tone, but something about it struck Philza as odd. He turned to look at his newly resurrected son and cocked an eyebrow as he responded: “I should have it laying around in a chest somewhere, yes. Why? I thought you liked your coat. Are you feeling alright?”

”Oh, I’m quite alright,” Wilbur answered and the careful, secretive edge in his tone didn’t go over Philza’s head: “It’s just chilly outside.”

“Wilbur,” Phil warned, staring the younger man down: “I know you well enough to know when you’re full of it. What are you planning?”

“Phil, you wouldn’t get it,” The brunette responded, shaking his head: “Just tell me where my sweater is.”

“Then help me get it because you’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on,” The shorter of the two snapped, taking a step towards the door in case Wilbur decided to bolt and go through with whatever crazy thing he was planning.

“Fine,” Wilbur sighed, raising his hands up in defeat: “Fine. I’m going to Dream.”

“To Dream!?” Philza exclaimed and let out a dry laugh: “Absolutely not! What are you thinking? You’ll try to take him down yourself and get yourself killed?! I’ve just got you back, do you think I’d be stupid enough to let you do something so reckless?”

“Do you know what he did to Tommy?” Wilbur barked out, glaring at the older man, gaze both angry and questioning. That made Philza falter and his expression turn from disbelief to one of confusion.

”He exiled him,” Phil responded with a shrug: ”Honestly at that point he probably deserved it. Kid’s a troublemaker.”

”Oh, so being a troublemaker makes it okay for Dream to emotionally manipulate him and abuse him both physically and mentally?” The brunette fumed, his glare turning to something that was borderlining murderous. Phil took a step back at the outburst, eyebrows furrowing as he replied:

“Abuse him? I went to see him, Wil. He seemed okay, just a bit sad and his clothes were a bit messed up, but-“

“He told me, Phil,” Wilbur cut him off: “Tommy told me about what Dream did to him. And he didn’t even give me details. But it was so bad it made him want to /die/. Our happy-go-lucky Tommy wanted to die because of Dream. That’s why I’m going after him. He needs to pay, don’t you understand?”

”I-I had no idea,” The older man stammered out: ”Tommy never told me anything like that. He seemed fine and Dream said he could come home soon.”

”Dream is a dirty liar,” Wilbur said, voice barely above a growl: ”Come on, Phil. Tommy has no reason to lie about that. He couldn’t. You wouldn’t doubt it for a second if you had seen him earlier when he told me. He was a wreck.”

”I believe you,” Philza stated, tone unreadable. He had been averting Wilbur’s eyes for the past few minutes, until finally he looked back up at his son and spoke: ”Alright. I understand. I know you’re not just being reckless now. But I still don’t understand why you need the damn sweater.”

“See, that’s the good part,” Wilbur started, a small smirk spreading onto his face: “I have a plan. Dream won’t know what hit him.”

He sat Philza down and shared with him the details of his plan. Moment by moment, the older man seemed more and more relieved and by the end of Wilbur’s explanation, he didn’t need more convincing to get up and go find the yellow sweater. He returned with it and handed it to the taller man, neatly folded. He had kept it safe and untouched all this time as one of the few reminders he had of his son’s living days.

”Thank you,” Wilbur said with a smile and Philza shook his head at him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder and said:

”Don’t mention it. Give him hell, Wil. And come home in one piece.”

“I promise.”

—

Wilbur didn’t take long to get ready. His plan was all set and now all he had to do was get himself to Dream and act convincingly when he got there, which shouldn’t be a problem.

The plan was quite simple, but foolproof. Wilbur had the upper hand here; Dream had no idea he had been resurrected. So all it took was some white dye on his face, the familiar yellow sweater and trying out his “Ghostbur voice” on Techno who had nearly jumped out of his skin and bursted into millions of questions about whether Wilbur’s resurrection had backfired. He was ready. He knew from the few memories he had from his time as a ghost that Dream at least pretended to be nice to Ghostbur. He just had to hope the shorter man was still willing to continue the act and let him in. If he didn’t... well, it would make things more difficult, but Wilbur would take an axe to his stupid mask one way or another. With that thought on his mind, he set off to follow where the compass was pointing.

The journey ended up being much longer than he had expected. He hadn’t taken into account that Dream was a very over the top person and would really put effort into not being found. Wilbur wished he had taken a horse, but it was too late to fret about it when he was already multiple biomes away. It was dangerously close to nightfall when he finally saw light in the distance. 

“Finally,” He mumbled to himself, hurrying to hide the compass in his pocket and throw off the cloak he’d been wearing; a ghost wouldn’t need one. This had to be perfect and convincing. Dream got suspicious easily. The dark would definitely work in Wilbur’s favor though, as it would prevent Dream from noticing he was no longer transparent. He checked his axe and sword in their holsters. It was show time.

He walked closer to the house and once he was a few meters away, he started his act of whining and whimpering.

“Oh dear,” He said loudly, pitching his voice higher, not knowing if Dream could hear him through the windows, but doing it regardless, in case he could. He stumbled around the house to the front door and desperately knocked several times. He heard a few crashes from the inside and definitely Dream’s voice swear loudly. He felt a twinge of sadistic joy from knowing he had probably scared the life out of the younger man. He quickly wiped the smirk from his face and knocked again, putting on his best, whiny Ghostbur voice as he called out: “Hello? Is there anybody there?”

After a moment the door flung open and Wilbur found himself staring down the length of a very sharp, very enchanted netherite sword. He did his best not to flinch and sound cheery, but surprised when he spoke: “Dream? What a surprise, I did not expect this to be your house!”

“Gho-“ Dream stammered, eyebrows furrowing. He slightly lowered his sword as he finished, tone coated in confusion and disbelief: “Ghostbur?! What the hell are you doing here?”

“Oh well, Dream, see, it’s a funny story,” Wilbur said, keeping his tone soft and airy: “I was looking for a woodland mansion. For a totem of undying, you see? Tommy has promised to help bring me back to life! But every piece of lore we’ve found about it requires a totem and nobody has had any luck yet, so I went off on my own.”

Dream still didn’t look quite convinced, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Anxious habit. Good. He should be fucking nervous, Wilbur thought to himself but was careful to not let his sinister thoughts show on his face, instead pulling an embarrassed face as he continued:

“But in the last biome over it was raining and I had to get away fast or I would’ve been toast! And I wandered here and I saw this little house and thought I would stop to see if maybe someone could give me shelter,” he scratched the back of his neck, reminding himself to keep his mannerisms innocent, almost shy: “It looks like it’s about to snow and I don’t think I can make it out of this biome before it does. Do you- I hate to ask- Do you think I could maybe stay here until the skies are clear?”

Dream stared at him for a long time after that, clearly judging his character and honesty. Wilbur knew Ghostbur had been a dreadful liar, so if Dream believed that he was Ghostbur, he would assume he was telling the truth. Now, he just had to hope he hadn’t blown his cover somehow.

“D-Dream?” He stuttered out, urging the shorter man to give him an answer. Dream seemed to sort of snap out of a trance and shook his head a bit, as if to get himself to get out of a spaced out state. He looked annoyed when he looked at Wilbur again, but not angry. Come on. This was it.

”Sure,” Dream finally responded, tone flat and annoyed. He had bought it, he just wasn’t happy about it. Good. This worked. Dream moved away from the doorway and “Ghostbur” walked in, trying to keep his steps soft and quiet.

“Just don’t bother me,” Dream sighed: “I have a big day coming up the day after tomorrow; I’m sure Tommy has mentioned it to you.”

“Oh yes, you two will be meeting, yes?” Wilbur answered, trying to sound interested, even when his brain was screaming at him to attack right then and there. He had to wait for the window of opportunity. He needed Dream to relax first. He was sure he could beat Dream then, but only then. The shorter man had lighting-like reflexes and Wilbur knew he was no match head on.

“Oh yes,” Dream answered and Wilbur wanted to gag when he heard the sadistic smile in his tone: “I think it will be very interesting, Ghostbur. I think by the end of it you’ll be deciding whether to go back to Logsted with Tommy or not.”

“Tommy is going back to Logsted?” The brunette hummed, tone full of fake-innocent wonder. Dream laughed and it made Wilbur feel sick to his stomach. The shorter man walked past him, towards a kitchen-like area as he spoke: “Well... possibly. If he gets out in one piece.”

“What do you mean? Are you going to hurt Tommy?” Questioned the taller, placing his hand on the hilt of the sword on his belt. Dream kept his back turned, opening a chest and starting to rummage through it. Wilbur took a few steps closer. Dream didn’t react, instead responding casually: 

“That’s for me to know and for him to find out when he meets me. I’m not telling you, you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

“Oh... yes, I guess you are right. Are you still angry that I helped hide Tommy at Technoblade’s house?” Wilbur inquired, pulling his sword out, thankful that the noise was masked by the loud clanging of bottles in the chest Dream was looking through. The brunette inched closer.

“Oh no, Ghostbur. You thought you were doing the right thing. It was stupid, but Tommy was your frie-“

Dream was cut off by Wilbur slashing his shoulder with his sword. The shorter man fell to his side with a yelp and Wilbyr swiftly kicked him in the ribs, forcing him on his back. He definitely had the element of surprise. Dream tried to lift up his own sword to fight back, but the man above him brought his down directly on Dream’s mask. The mask shattered with a loud crack. It was thicker and heavier than Wilbur had expected, but it broke nicely into little pieces that dug into the skin of Dream’s face.

“WHAT THE F-“ The younger man opened his mouth to yell, but couldn’t finish his sentence once again, as Wilbur brought his boot down on his stomach, effectively knocking the wind out of him. Dream gasped for breath and Wilbur kneeled down on one knee, keeping his foot on Dream’s stomach. He used one hand to grab the collar of the blonde’s hoodie and the other to press his sword to his throat.

“Now you listen to me, Dream,” he spoke, voice low and tone dark: “I know what you did, you sick fuck. And you’re fucking lucky if you get out of this alive.”

Dream laughed. The fucking bastard laughed. It was weak and wheezy, as he still barely had air in his lungs, but it was definitely a laugh. He shook his head to shrug off some of the sharp pieces of his broken mask from his face and blinked his eyes open to look Wilbur directly in the eyes.

“And I’ll do it again,” He sneered, smirking despite a large cut on his lip from one of the mask shards: “Tommy deserved and still deserves every last bit of it.”

Wilbur let go of his collar and punched him. Bits of Dream’s mask dug into his knuckles, but it was satisfying to see that even more of the pieces were digging into Dream’s jaw. The brunette couldn’t even feel the pain in his knuckles. He punched again. And again. And again. And soon enough, Dream’s sick laughter faded into groans and grunts of pain. By the time Wilbur was about to land his ninth punch, Dream was trying to lift up his arms to shield his face.

“Aw, are you scared?” Wilbur chimed, using the same sarcastic tone Dream had used just moments ago: “Does it hurt? Did you let Tommy shield his face, huh?”

“Go to hell!” Dream barked, moving his arm just enough for Wilbur to see how his eyes were blazing with anger. It only fueled the older man more. He moved his foot from Dream’s stomach, in order to sit on his chest and pressed the sharpened blade of his sword against the blonde’s throat so hard it drew blood.

“I’d move my arms if I were you,” Wilbur chuckled and felt an extremely sadistic sense of pride when Dream did as he was told.

“How do you feel, Dream?” He questioned, voice dripping with false sweetness: “In pain? Like you want me to stop? Dare I say even... Helpless? Do you think Tommy felt better or worse than you right now?”

Dream stayed silent, glaring at the man above him. His right eye was already starting to swell shut and bruise and it made Wilbur feel good. He leaned closer to Dream’s face, voice barely above a whisper: 

“Here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna leave Tommy the fuck alone. You’re gonna leave Tubbo the fuck alone. Actually, in fact, you’re gonna leave everyone alone. You can try to crawl back to George for all I care, but you stay away from my friends, Dream.”

“Or what, Wilbur? It’s not like you can trick me again,” Dream replied, voice strained and gurgling, as blood pooled in his throat. Now it was Wilbur’s turn to laugh as he slowly got up and off of Dream. He looked down at the pathetic pool of blood he had turned the shorter man into and shrugged.

”I don’t know, Dream. Or this,” He said coldly, raised his sword and brought it down, piercing through Dream’s side. The blonde screeched in pain, writhing pathetically, but Wilbur wasn’t done. He pulled the sword out with an equally swift move and then brought it down on Dream’s left shoulder, earning another strained shriek, followed by whimpering and coughing as Dream tried not to choke on his own blood. Wilbur waited for him to quiet down, before speaking again:

“I don’t think you’ll be trying anything in a few weeks. Maybe you can take that time to reflect. Because next time you try to touch someone I care about, I’m not going to be this merciful.”

He pulled the sword out of Dream’s shoulder and stepped over his struggling frame. Dream might lose a life here, but Wilbur didn’t really care. He would deserve it. He was about to head out, when he remembered something and turned back around and walked back to Dream, pulling out a small camera from his pocket and aiming it at Dream’s face.

“Say cheese! This is for Tommy,” He stated in a cheery sing-song voice and snapped a polaroid of the man on the floor. With a smile, he thanked Dream and walked out the door, leaving it open to let in the cold taiga biome air. He really had a feeling Dream wouldn’t be bothering them for quite a while.

—

It took him until midday the next day to be back at Philza’s house and when he arrived, the older man was already waiting by the window. He ran out upon spotting Wilbur and wrapped the younger man in a hug.

“Thank the Gods you’re alright,” Phil said and Wilbur chuckled in response: “I am. Barely a scratch. Dream? Not so much.”

Phil pulled back from the hug to look at the brunette. Wilbur’s sweater was bloody, especially the sleeve of the hand he had used to beat Dream’s face in. There were blood splatters on his pants and shoes as well, and the tip of his sword was gleaming red, with a few blood droplets frozen before they’d been able to fall, on the sharp side.

“You seem like you really gave him hell,” Phil said, blinking at him, a slight proud smile that he tried to hide, on his lips. Wilbur grinned and pulled out the now slightly wet polaroid, handing it to the shorter man. Philza’s eyes widened upon seeing it and after a minute he couldn’t help but laugh.

“I would’ve taken your word for it,” The older chuckled: “But I can’t lie it’s kind of nice to actually see it.”

“I knew it would be,” Wilbur replied, still grinning proudly. He wrapped an arm around his father figure’s shoulders and began walking towards the house: 

“I need to wash up and then I’m gonna go tell Tommy he doesn’t have to go anywhere on Wednesday.”

“Don’t show him the picture.”

“Oh, I’m /so/ showing him the picture. Dream posed for him and everything!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo, writing this was highkey therapeutic, I really hope SMP!Dream gets what he deserves canonically as well.
> 
> Thank you so much for the support on this, it’s insane! <3 I’m definitely going to be writing a lot more one shots and possibly a longer fic about the exile arc and the events after, as it’s my absolute favorite arc so far.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, comments and kudos are always appreciated!
> 
> Second chapter will be Wilbur rocking Dream’s shit on sight and it will be out soon.


End file.
